


Signs and Meanings

by HildyJ



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Alternate Universe - Middle Earth Setting, Cultural Differences, Fluff, Language Barrier, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HildyJ/pseuds/HildyJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn't matter to Thorin that the visiting hobbit cook doesn't speak his language. But it does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signs and Meanings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenbach](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/gifts).



> This was prompted by [serenbach](http://serenbach86.tumblr.com/) who wanted Bagginshield and cake.

Balin had been right, Thorin thought as he mopped up the last of his stew with a hunk of bread. The quality of the food coming from Erebor’s kitchens had certainly improved after his advisor had taken it upon himself to invite a hobbit cook to take up residency and teach the dwarven cooks how to prepare food more complicated than simply roasting meat over fire.

It was only proper, Balin had said, if Thorin was to entertain foreign dignitaries and royalty that the food served at the King’s table should reflect the might and power of his kingdom. Hobbits were known, he had said, for their love and knowledge of food, and this Bilbo Baggins was particularly renowned for his talents in the kitchen.

Thorin took a deep swallow from his cup as he let his eyes casually rest at the entrance to the great hall, wondering if this would be the night that the elusive hobbit would finally deign to grace the dwarves with his presence. But all he saw were the usual servants coming in to clear the tables after the evening meal.

He leant over to murmur in Balin’s ear on his right. ‘You said this Bilbo Baggins was considered a _gentlehobbit_ back in the Shire?’

‘Aye.’ Balin nodded, his long, white beard sweeping over his brocaded front.

‘Then surely he must know that he’s welcome to take his meals in the great hall with the rest of us. That he doesn’t have to eat them in the kitchen with the scullery maids?’

‘I’m sure he does know. But maybe he prefers it down there. The great hall can be a large and noisy place for a newly arrived hobbit. He’s only been here a month, after all.’ Balin looked away from Thorin as he straightened the fork on his plate. ‘Maybe he just needs time to settle.’ 

Thorin narrowed his eyes. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me about this hobbit.’ Balin had been his closest advisor ever since his father’s death and was often fond of telling Thorin that he knew him better than anyone. But this went both ways, and no one could decipher Balin’s diplomatic deflections better than Thorin. He had seen enough of them in the council chamber.

‘Why would I hide anything about the hobbit? You agreed that inviting him would be a good idea,’ Balin said as he aligned his knife next to his fork.

Thorin turned in his seat to try to catch Balin’s gaze but the advisor kept his head down. Right, he thought as he made a decision. ‘I want to meet him’ Thorin said as he wiped his hands on a napkin and stood up. ‘Have someone bring him to my chambers tonight. I’d like to thank him for dinner.’

‘I really don’t think-,’ Balin started as he finally looked up at Thorin.

‘There’s nothing wrong with the king of Erebor wanting to meet someone in his employ, is there?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Then have someone bring him within the hour.’

Balin sighed. ‘As you wish, your Majesty.’

 

X—X

 

The knock came just as Thorin finished reading and signing the last document of the night and he called out ‘Enter’ before returning to straightening his desk. He could hear the door opening and closing behind him before he turned to face Bilbo Baggins.

Thorin blinked once. Then blinked again. He had never seen a hobbit before and wasn’t prepared for this one being so…lovely. Even the feet, which should have looked ridiculous as they shifted on the stone floor of Thorin’s study, were perfectly suited to that small, soft body. The smoothness of the face should have been a strange sight for a dwarf but it was brightened by the brownish curls framing it. The pointy ears weren’t hideous like elf ears but gave a rather impish appearance to the hobbit. Only the eyes escaped Thorin’s attention, hooded as they were as Bilbo looked down to the floor in the presence of royalty.

Thorin had a sudden urge to know the colour of those eyes. He stepped closer, hoping Bilbo would finally look up at him.

But when he did, Thorin was not so much taken by the dark blue hue as he was by the obvious signs of worry lingering on the hobbit’s brow. What could be bothering Bilbo Baggins? 

‘Good evening,’ Thorin said in Westron with a small smile, hoping to put Bilbo at rest.

Bilbo smiled and nodded.

‘I wanted to thank you for the excellent meals you have been cooking for us. Indeed, it’s a wonder I and most of my subjects haven’t doubled in size over the last month!’ Thorin stopped and waited for Bilbo to laugh politely at the small witticism.

But Bilbo’s smile remained the same as he stared blankly at Thorin, his hands catching each other in front of his soft middle.

Thorin frowned. ‘Because we’ve been eating so well,’ he clarified, waiting for the light of understanding to reach Bilbo’s eyes. But the hobbit kept smiling that bland smile.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Thorin was at a loss. Was this some sort of simpleton who only knew how to cook and nothing else? He remembered Balin’s earlier hesitation about letting Thorin meet Bilbo and he strode to open the door where he gestured to one of the guards posted there.

‘Go find Balin. Ask him to come to me,’ he said shortly. The guard stood at attention, making his sword clank loudly against his side before turning down the hallway.

_‘Please, your Majesty. I meant no harm. Please don’t make them send me away.’_

The language had the sound of something familiar, a lilting version of Westron perhaps, but Thorin could understand none of it. Nothing but the pleading expression on Bilbo’s face as he turned around to face him again.

‘What did you say?’

_'I meant no harm - truly, I didn't.'_

'Is that some form of Elvish?' Thorin's brow unconsciously wrinkled.

Bilbo moved his head softly from side to side, his hands almost clasped in supplication.

Thorin sighed in irritation. 'So, no Westron? West-ron?' he enunciated clearly. 

No reaction. 

'Khuzdul?' he offered, really relishing the throaty sound after the tongue-twisting that was Westron. 

The hobbit just looked at him.

'What about Entish then?' Thorin spoke louder than was strictly necessary before rubbing a rough hand over the nape of his neck. It had been a long time since he last felt this kind of immediate attraction to another, and now it was all wasted on this rural simpleton with no grasp of any of the common tongues.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Balin striding through the still open door, the middle parting of his long beard even wider from him having hurried down the windy corridors.

Before his advisor could even catch his breath, Thorin carried on from where his thoughts had been stopped. 'Balin, were you the one who hired this-' He gestured behind him at Bilbo. 'This hobbit.'

Balin swallowed a breath. 'I did.'

 _'Please, sir.'_ Bilbo had now turned towards Balin. _'Tell the king how hard I've been working in your kitchens.'_

Thorin folded his arms as he looked at Balin. 'Well, what did he say? You must be able to speak this Shire language since you hired him.'

'Not exactly,' Balin said slowly, 'you see, I only sent a message to the Thain of the Shire, asking if he could spare one of his cooks to travel to the Erebor kitchens. And he wrote back, suggesting one of his own cousins - or was it nephew? - for the position. Not only was he a wonderful cook but was apparently hungry for travel and adventure as well.' Balin glanced over at Bilbo. 'So, naturally I accepted. It was only when he arrived at the gates of the mountain that we understood that there was a language -' He swallowed again. '- issue.'

'Issue? Is that what you call it? An issue?' Thorin threw an arm in Bilbo's direction. 'Wasn't he supposed to teach Shire cooking to our cooks?'

'And he is. At least, that is what Bombur tells me. The whole kitchen seems very satisfied with Master Baggins, in fact.'

Thorin blew out an irritated breath, not feeling calmed by Balin’s reassuring words. But if everything was working out as intended, why should he be bothered by this...this hindrance between himself and the hobbit. It shouldn't matter at all.

'Right. Fine.' He glanced back at Bilbo who was looking warily between Thorin and Balin. 'I feel like I should apologize to him for speaking so harshly but what good could it possibly do?'

'Maybe just a smile?' Balin offered. 'To make him more easy in your company? Because right now he is fair shaking like a rabbit caught in a snare.'

Thorin sighed before pressing his lips into a smile, feeling the skin over his cheeks tighten as he did.

Bilbo blinked. _‘Why are you making that face at me? Is that.... Is that supposed to be a smile?’_

'Well,’ Balin sighed, ‘he seems less frightened now - though no less confused. Why don't I escort him back to his room?' He smiled one of his smiles - that warm, understanding grandfather one - and stepped forward and pressed one arm behind Bilbo's back to herd him out of the King's chambers. 

Thorin watched them as they went, focusing on Bilbo's deep blue eyes as they looked back at him just as the door shut behind them.

He sighed again, tugging roughly at his loosening braids as he made his way to bed.

 

X--X

 

Though Bilbo had already been staying in the mountain for a month when Thorin had first met him, it was only now that he constantly seemed to be catching sight of him around his kingdom. A glimpse of a large, bare foot hurrying behind a market stall, a golden curl disappearing behind a closing door, the sound of a light, lilting language coming through the walls in the cellars next to the kitchen. 

Always something to remind Thorin that Bilbo Baggins was nearby but never close.

He rolled his tight shoulders as he emerged from the long stretch of the council meeting, listening to his aging joints groan as he did. He walked without purpose, enjoying the unusual freedom of not having anything to do for the rest of the day, and without meaning to, his feet carried him to the wide doors of Erebor's library.

He pressed them open and stepped into that large room, breathing the dusty smell of parchments collected by his forefathers ever since the invention of ink.

There was the sound of scratching quills from the scribes' corner but otherwise the room was quiet, something that Thorin craved after the hubbub of the council room.

He wandered aimlessly among the shelves, letting his hand brush over their cold stone as he passed them.

Something thumped nearby and Thorin changed his path in the direction of the sound. As he came around the final shelf, the first thing he spied was that curly head as it bent over a heavy book spread out over a large table. This was definitely no dwarf.

'Master Baggins?'

Bilbo's shoulders jerked slightly before he turned around. _'Ah, it's the king with the gruff voice.'_

Thorin shifted from one foot to the other. His greeting had been something immediate, bypassing his mind before reaching his mouth, and now he didn't know how to proceed with this - well, you could barely call it a conversation.

He approached the table, craning his neck to get a closer look at the book Bilbo had picked out.

It was that large leather volume that one of Erebor's scholars had brought home from Minas Tirith, a supposed intimate study of the dwarven race and its culture. Those first nights it had been passed from family to family, eliciting guffaws of laughter at some of the frankly absurd and hilarious misunderstandings the foreign scholars had observed from their travels between the Blue Mountains and Erebor.

But, Thorin thought as he looked down at the broad page, it did have some rather fine drawings of dwarven clothes, tools and braids.

The page which Bilbo had opened had one of these splendid pictures, a family of dwarves, traders if you observed the details of their clothes, a dwarrowdam, her husband and their one child.

Bilbo noticed Thorin looking. _'I know I can't read any of it but it's less fuss to study the pictures in this than trying to do it covertly while passing a particularly interesting-looking dwarf in the hallways. No matter where in the world you are, it seems that staring at strangers is never a safe option,'_ he finished with a small laugh.

Thorin couldn’t help the small smile tugging the corners of his mouth as he heard Bilbo laughing for the first time.

He tore his gaze away from the other and looked down at the book again as Bilbo turned the page to another drawing, one that was full of detailed images of various dwarven braids.

Bilbo leaned further down, honing in on one of the braids and narrowing his eyes as he took in the intricate details and differences.

 _'King?'_ He looked over his shoulder at an uncomprehending Thorin. _'Tell me about these braids?'_ He tapped at the first one. _'Even if I won’t understand anything, I'll still get to listen to that deep voice of yours.'_

Thorin glanced between that tapping finger and Bilbo's expectant face. 'The braid? It's just an ordinary miner's braid. Three broad strands braided together with an additional Blue Mountain double twist at the end to show which mines the miner, uh, mines.'

Bilbo just looked at him.

'A miner?' Thorin's arms moved lamely in front of him, not knowing which shape to take. 'Miner?' He rounded his fingers around the imaginary handle of a pickaxe and made broad swinging movements towards Bilbo. 'Miner?'

Bilbo took a quick step backwards as Thorin's burly arms chopped towards him. 'My-nuh?' he repeated before his face lit up. _'Ah! Wood chopping! It's a braid you wear to keep your hair out of your face when chopping wood!'_ he said, smiling broadly at his sudden understanding.

As his arms dropped to his sides, Thorin couldn't help smiling as well, a pleasing warmth spreading from somewhere in his chest.

Bilbo was still grinning when he turned back to the book. _'And this one?_ ' he asked, pointing at the braid signifying at new birth in the family.

'Uh, maybe...' Thorin's hands made a curve from the bottom of his ribs to the top of his thighs, patting his imaginary pregnant belly.

 _'A braid for a fat dwarf?'_ Bilbo asked, blowing out his cheeks and pressing his head down towards his chest, giving himself a few additional chins.

'No, no...' Thorin waved his hands dismissively before cradling one arm on top of the other in front of his chest, rocking them back and forth.

Bilbo looked at him for a moment before shaking his head.

Thorin blew out a frustrated breath between tight lips, before looking down at the non-existent babe cradled in his arms and started cooing and babbling at it, hoping that the sound of baby chatter would be the same in most corners of Middle-earth.

'Ah!' Bilbo cried. _'A baby! A braid for when you have just had a child!_

Thorin looked at him, still rocking his arms back and forth.

 _'Baby?'_ Bilbo asked before popping a thumb in his mouth, sucking loudly at the tip.

'Yes!' Thorin grinned. 'Exactly that!'

All at once, both of them suddenly became aware of how they must look to an outsider, standing as they were in the middle of the grand library and looking for all the world like two people who had completely lost their grip on reality.

Bilbo was the first to burst into laughter but Thorin soon followed, his low chuckle mixing with Bilbo's higher giggle as both of them grew red-faced and shiny-eyed from merriment.

'Well, I'm glad nobody saw any of that,' Thorin said, his shoulders still shaking slightly. 'Pretending to have an imaginary child is definitely not kingly behaviour.'

 _'That was the most fun I've had since coming here!'_ Bilbo was still grinning widely as he wiped his eyes with a handkerchief from his pocket.

They stood like that for a moment, their laughter ebbing slowly away until they were just smiling at each other. Then Bilbo glanced away, his cheeks still flushed.

Thorin cleared his throat and stepped closer to the book, and to Bilbo, expecting to explain another braid.

Bilbo looked up at him, taking in this king of dwarves. He lifted a hand, but instead of tapping at the book, he lightly touched the end of the braid lying flat over Thorin's right shoulder.

Thorin sucked in a quick breath. 'My braid?' he said, fingering the bead dangling from the bottom of it.

Bilbo nodded.

'It signifies my family, the line of Durin.' He spoke slowly, repeating, 'family.'

Bilbo tilted his head to the side. 'Fa-muh-lee?'

Thorin's brow knotted. How to explain such a concept with simple gestures? A sudden idea hit him and he leaned over the book to drag the heavy page back to the picture of the two traders and their child. He circled the three of them with a finger. 'Family.'  
Bilbo smile dropped. 'Oh.' He looked down at the image of a couple with their child. _'I didn't know you had a...'_

Thorin was studying Bilbo, wondering if he understood. 'Family,' he repeated.

 _'Yes, thank you, I heard you already,'_ Bilbo muttered, looking away from book. _‘No need to rub it in.’_

Their earlier laughter seemed so far away now as Thorin watched Bilbo closing himself off, his movements stiff and controlled.

 _'I should get back to the kitchen...'_ Bilbo pulled at the corner of the book as he looked away from Thorin to its vacant spot on the shelf behind him.

'Wait.' Thorin planted his broad hand over the page with the picture of the family, holding onto the volume against Bilbo's pulling. 'I didn't mean to upset you. I don't know what I did or said, but I'd never purposefully make you look like you're looking at me right now.' He angled his head as he spoke, trying to catch Bilbo's downcast gaze. 

Bilbo made one final pull at the book but finding it useless against Thorin's counterweight he finally gave up and brushed quickly past Thorin with a grumbly sigh, his hurried passage soundless until Thorin heard the door to the library close with a definite sound.

Thorin let out the breath he had been holding, his shoulders slumping with all that he had been feeling this last quarter of an hour. First, there had been the warm and tingly sensation he had felt at finding Bilbo alone, then the pleasant surprise of seeing Bilbo so interested in dwarven culture, the ecstatic joy of their shared laughter, and the final numb ache at Bilbo's unspoken rejection of Thorin's company.

He heaved a deep sigh as he removed his hand from the book, staring blindly at the page in front of him as his thoughts followed Bilbo's unknown path away from the library, wondering in which part of the mountain Balin would quarter a visiting hobbit.

 

X--X

 

'Master Bombur?'

The bustling kitchen stopped as one at the sight of their king standing in the entrance to the room. All faces were turned towards him. Cooks' shoulders and arms strained under heavy joints of meat, kitchen maids grew hot from pots left to boil and steam, and an embarrassed giggle escaped one of the younger scullery maids before the head cook of Erebor's kitchens looked up from his planning of tomorrow's meals.

'Ah, my king,' Bombur said, dropping his quill in the inkwell. 'You are a rare sight in this part of your mountain.'

'Yes, well...' Thorin shifted where he stood. 'I needed to speak with you.'

‘Master Balin is usually the one who deals with kitchen matters.’

‘This isn’t a kitchen matter.’ Thorin could still feel dozens of eyes roaming over him. ‘Could we speak somewhere else?’

Bombur nodded at a small antechamber to the kitchen. ‘In here.’

As Bombur shut the door behind them, Thorin was already speaking. ‘How is Bilb- how is the hobbit- uh, is he making himself useful to, uh, to you?’

‘Exceedingly so.’

‘I was wondering – well, Balin and I were wondering – how do you communicate with him with no shared language?’

Bombur’s thick, swooping braid bunched up as he folded his arms in front of him. ‘Cooking requires very little chatter. It is its own language.’

‘Yes, but surely,’ Thorin interjected, ‘surely, you still need to say things like “not enough salt” or “keep stirring that pot” or “watch out, the bread is on fire”?’

Bombur’s large chest rose and fell with a deep breath. ‘Do you know of my cousin Bifur?’

‘The one with the axe in the--?’

‘The very one. Well, he taught Bilbo and me a few basic hand gestures. For instance, this,’ he gathered the fingers of both hands into the shape of a duck’s bill and moved them towards each other in front of him, ‘this means “more” – as in more spice, more stirring, more heat - whatever makes sense in the situation. And luckily, Bilbo is a very perceptive hobbit.’ He let his hands fall to his sides. ‘So you see: we get along easily.’

Thorin pursed his lips, tampering down his disappointment. He had hoped for something more, some magical key that would open up the barrier between him and Bilbo, not these basic signs for basic things.

 

X—X

 

The kitchen had almost cleared when Thorin left Bombur's office. A couple of hall boys were still stoking the fires in the big stoves but soon scampered away as they saw their king standing aimlessly in the middle of the room.

Thorin was making ready to leave the kitchens when the sound of a _crack_ and then a soft _plop_ caught his attention, and he angled his head towards their source. They came from around the corner, from one of the smaller kitchens. 

Framed in the doorway was Bilbo, cracking another egg against the side of a bowl before separating the yolk from the white with easy, practised movements. With another _plop_ the yolk joined others in a shallow dish.

Thorin moved silently towards him, taking the time to study Bilbo at his work as he did. The low light from the oven behind him gilded the curls at the nape of his neck as they brushed back and forth over Bilbo's collar with his movements. His hands were nimble, glistening slightly - either from the heat of the kitchen or from the wetness of the eggs.

In his preoccupation of the hobbit, he didn't notice until his heavy boot brushed against a wooden crate, making it scrape over the floor with an excruciatingly sharp sound. 

His eyes flew from the offending box to Bilbo's profile.

 _'Dagma?'_ Bilbo let another yolk slide from his hand into the dish. _'Where have you been? I had to start without you and- oh.'_ He stopped, an indecipherable look crossing his face. _'I thought you were one of the kitchen maids.'_

Thorin took one step into the room. 'Hello.' 

Bilbo gathered the eggshells from counter and wiped it down with a cloth. _'No wonder everyone's disappeared,'_ he said, cleaning his hands, _'with your fearsome majesty in the room.'_ He turned back towards Thorin.

Thorin smiled awkwardly as he shifted from one foot to the other. 'Yes.' He glanced at the various bowls and sacks on the counter. He pointed at them. 'What are you,' he pointed at Bilbo, 'making?' he finished with a pantomime of a stirring spoon.

 _'The cake?_ Bilbo's body language softened as he waved Thorin closer. _'It's a honey,'_ he lifted the jar of syrupy gold for Thorin to see, _'and almond cake,'_ he finished as he gestured to a dish of chopped nuts.

'A cake? Lovely.' Thorin could feel himself nodding quickly, three or four times at least, desperate to convey his understanding and to keep the lines of communication open.

Bilbo watched him until the wrinkle in his forehead smoothed. _'Come help me,'_ he said, nodding at the counter in front of them.

'What?'

The movement seemed slow and deliberate to Thorin's eyes, but he still didn't fully comprehend it until Bilbo had reached out with a whisk and closed Thorin's fingers around it. Thorin could feel his mouth slipping slightly open as his eyes flicked from the whisk to Bilbo's face.

 _'It's the least you can do after scaring my workmates away.'_ Bilbo flashed a quick, crooked smile up at him.

Thorin's breath caught. 'You want me to help you?'

Bilbo picked up the bowl of egg whites and gave it to Thorin. _'Beat these until I tell you to stop.'_

Thorin stood lamely, the whisk in one hand, the bowl in the other before understanding. He dipped the whisk carefully into the bowl, watching how it parted the gloopy mass.

As he began to move the whisk around, listening to the brisk sound of it hitting the sides of the bowl, he watched from the corner of his eye how Bilbo carefully measured out butter, honey, flour and milk into a bowl of his own before mixing them.

The warmth coming from the kitchen ovens cocooned Thorin as he stood there, listening to the rhythm of his whisk as it mixed with the sound of Bilbo's wooden spoon hitting the edge of his bowl. He could feel himself relaxing, the earlier tense awkwardness leaving his body. And then he began to speak.

'I came down here to talk to Bombur, really.' He could see Bilbo raise his head at the sound of the head cook's name. 'I mean, I don't want you to think that I'm following you around. This was a coincidence. As was that day in the library, by the way.' He looked down at how his whisk created patterns as the egg whites started to firm. ‘Not that I regret that day, mind you. It was...nice...talking to you. Well, not _talking_. But being with you like that - I can't remember when I last laughed so hard.' His whisk slowed. 'I smile more now - I smile when I think of you.'

A smaller hand covered his own, rounding over his fingers where they held the whisk. _'Don't stop,'_ Bilbo murmured as he pushed Thorin to move his hand in circular motions. _'You're nearly there. Don't stop.'_

Thorin looked down at that bent head, allowing his hand to be pushed. 'Do you ever think of me?'

Bilbo kept his gaze focused on the egg whites, watching the soft peaks forming in the white foam as they whisked together. _'I wish you wouldn't talk to me like that - so soft and quiet. It was easier that first night when you were brusque and rough - you scared me half to death, do you know that? But now that I've seen you smile and heard you speak so tenderly to me? Well, it's hard not to want what I know I can't have.'_

With a sigh, Bilbo pulled the bowl away from Thorin and began folding the egg whites expertly into the rest of the mixture.

Thorin folded his right hand into his left, still feeling that warm touch stretching from his knuckles to the tips of his fingers.

He said nothing as Bilbo turned away to give the fire a good stoke before rummaging through the various baking tins in a nearby cupboard, his back towards Thorin.

Feeling unnecessary and futile and knowing that any words were useless, Thorin turned as well and walked away.

 

X—X

 

The heat of the kitchen was still simmering in Thorin's body as he ended the day in his own rooms, sipping some distilled wine without really tasting it. Loosening his belt and letting his tunic hang free, he wandered from the fireplace to his desk, his hands aimlessly trying to find something to occupy his thoughts, which were straining to return to the kitchens - or perhaps the library.

He emptied his drink and immediately poured another one, relishing the purifying burn of the strong wine which preceded the warmth as it hit his stomach. It was the only warmth he had right now.

The knock at the door caught his attention. It was not the steady perfunctoriness of one of his guards, nor did it have the twirly rhythm of Balin, and his sister and her boys would have marched straight in through the door.

This knock was softer, almost hesitant.

Thorin opened the door.

Bilbo stood flanked between the two regular guards at Thorin's door, their heavily armoured shoulders like the curtains of a stage as they presented this much-desired sight.

 _'You weren't at dinner,'_ Bilbo said. _'I looked for you but you weren't there.'_ He raised something up for Thorin to see. _'And I thought you should have some of the cake you helped make.'_

On a plate was a thick slice of a golden-white spongy cake decorated with pieces of roughly chopped almonds.

'For me?' Thorin blinked at the simple offering before taking it from Bilbo. 'Thank you.'

Drawing in a deep breath, Bilbo made to walk back down the hallway when Thorin's arm shot out, almost grabbing hold of him. 

'Wait.' Thorin stood back from the door, holding it open as he gestured to Bilbo. 'Please come in.'

 _'No.'_ Bilbo shook his head. _'I wouldn't want to disturb you or your family._

'Please?' Thorin stood firm.

With a quick glance to the guards at either side of him, Bilbo nodded once and slipped through the open door into Thorin's chambers.

Bilbo turned in a half-circle where he stood, taking in the large room. _'I was too nervous that first night to really get a good look,'_ he said, looking back at Thorin.

Thorin nodded. 'Drink?' He held up another glass and the bottle of distilled wine.

Bilbo nodded absentmindedly, still measuring up the large accommodations as he placed the plate on a nearby table.

 _'I bet you could fit Gamgee's entire smial into this room,'_ Bilbo said, as he took the glass from Thorin. He sipped. _'And this is only one of your family's rooms._ He looked expectantly at Thorin. 'Fa-muh-lee,' he repeated slowly, making a wide motion with his arm as he did so.

'Family?' Thorin drank from his own glass as he pondered. 'What about family?'

Bilbo kept talking. _'I probably should have cut a bigger piece of cake for...'_ He moved the glass from one hand to the other. _'Children love cake.'_

‘I wish I knew what you were saying.’ Thorin kept looking at him. ‘That you knew what I’m saying.’ He took another drink. ‘You said family? Family?’ He raised a questioning eyebrow.

 _’Your…’_ Bilbo pointed at Thorin. ‘Fa-muh-lee. _I should have brought them cake._ ’

‘My family?’

 _‘Are they here?’_ Bilbo pointed to the doors leading to Thorin’s other rooms. ‘Fa-muh-lee?’

Thorin frowned. ‘No, no family.’ He shook his head.

Bilbo took a step back, then another - then he turned on his foot, heading towards the farthest door, the one leading to Thorin’s personal study. Thorin watched as he opened the door with a jerk, peering into the empty room as if he was exploring a newly discovered cave.

The door shut and Bilbo headed to the next one, looking into Thorin’s bare bathroom.

Finally, he burst through the last door, stopping short at the sight of the bed and the single wardrobe next to a single washstand. A single pair of boots sat next to a single table with a single chair.

‘Huh,’ Bilbo said. _‘No family.’_

Thorin gestured with the bottle of wine. ‘Another drink?’

Bilbo moved back slowly, blinking quickly as his mind churned away. _‘No family,’_ he repeated hazily while holding out his glass for Thorin to pour into.

Thorin deposited the bottle on the table behind him after topping up his own glass. He turned to Bilbo with a careful smile. ‘Are you alright?’

Gulping half the glass before speaking, Bilbo said with a shaky grin, _‘it’s like I’ve just been given an enormous present!_

Thorin grinned as well. ‘At least you’re smiling at me now.’ His gaze fell to the table and spotted the plate. ‘And I haven’t even tried our cake yet.’ He picked at it with his fingers, tearing off a piece of the fluffy crumb. 

As he popped the morsel into his mouth, he could see Bilbo watching him carefully, obviously waiting for the reaction.

Thorin decided to overdo it. ‘Ohhhh…’ He closed his eyes in exaggerated bliss as he chewed. ‘Oh, yum, yum, yum.’ He smacked his lips loudly as he rubbed his belly in a circular motion. ‘This is _good_.

Bilbo giggled. _‘Yes, alright, I believe you, you silly dwarf._ His laughter simmered down to a fond smile as he looked at Thorin.

Thorin chuckled. ‘But it really _is_ good.’ He held out the plate. ‘Have you tried it?’

 _‘Thank you.’_ Bilbo’s fingers picked at a corner of the cake. They were standing close now, the small plate the only barrier between them, Bilbo looking up at Thorin as he chewed slowly. _‘You’re even more handsome up close,’_ he murmured.

Thorin could feel his face heating up at how Bilbo was looking at him, a frank appraisal running from his eyes to his mouth and back again. Some dim recollection of his earlier talk with Bombur flickered in his mind. He put down the plate and arranged the tips of his fingers into the shape of a duck’s bill before bringing his hands together in front of him. ‘More?’ he asked, hoping that Bilbo didn’t think he was talking about the cake.

Bilbo’s eyes brightened in recognition before he echoed the sign with his own hands. _‘More, definitely more,’_ he said before swooping a hand around Thorin’s neck and leading him down into a sweet kiss that tasted of honey, almonds and unspoken promises.

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](http://hildyj.tumblr.com/)


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